


Talking Pretty

by foxpuppet



Series: Praise Me, Degrade Me [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Facials, M/M, Praise Kink, excessive eyebrow waggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxpuppet/pseuds/foxpuppet
Summary: “So as long as I keep pointing out how pretty you are, you’re gonna let me have a piece?” Oh fuck this was way beyond friendly teasing. This was way way beyond.





	Talking Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> They're probably too OOC but I just love writing goodRelationship!grimmons. It's my kink.

The heat had broken, finally. Well, as much as it could break in Blood Gulch. It was still hot as balls. But at least it wasn't hot as balls bathed in the arse sweat of hell. 

Thus Grif was able to drag his rotund self to the galley in actual civvies, as opposed to sneaking out in his unmentionables. 

In the galley, Grif was looking for something to drink other than the hard, metallic tasting stuff that was the only potable water available in the box canyon. He thought he'd seen some sparkling juice before. Maybe in the back of the fridge. 

Above all the clanking and shuffling Grif didn't hear Simmons come in. The guy could move like a ninja when he wanted. So Grif had no idea how long Simmons watched him scrounging through the fridge like the chubbiest raccoon in the trash can. 

Clearing his throat was the first sound Simmons made in the galley before saying, “You're going to fry the motor if you leave the door open so long.”

Grif banged his elbow on the fridge door. 

Over Grif's mumbled cursing Simmons added, “The thing's a piece of crap.”

Grif stood, closing the door and half turning to look at Simmons. 

Who's eyes were quickly snapping up from a point around Grif's lower back, where his arse crack was probably hanging out. With amusement Grif tugged his shirt back down. 

“You looking for something too?” Grif asked, waving towards the fridge. 

“No, I just heard…” Simmons trailed off, his eyebrows dipping to meet briefly. He shook his head. 

“Sarge is doing. Something,” he said, as though whatever Sarge was doing wasn't worth remembering. “We have to guard the base until he gets back.”

“Against them rascally Blues,” Grif said in a fair imitation of Sarge's drawl. 

He grinned at Simmons’ repressed smile. Laughed at his reproachful glare. 

“Should we throw a party while dad's gone?” Grif joked. 

Simmons pulled a face. “Even my dad isn't as messed up as Sarge.”

Surprise made Grif laugh a lot harder than he probably should have. Simmons’ annoyed look pushed Grif to say, “My dad is definitely more messed up but he doesn't have a shotgun so he's still not as scary.”

Simmons looked guilty now, but a little pleased as well. On the balance Grif took it as a win. 

Not wanting to fuck up this genuinely nice interaction Grif decided to retreat before either one of them remembered what arseholes they actually were. 

But as Grif moved to the saloon Simmons trailed after him. Grif settled onto the sofa, the busted stuffing letting out a fart of air. He picked up the closest tablet with his toes, not wanting to lean up again to reach it. As he transferred it to his hands Simmons watched, looking perturbed. 

“What?” Grif asked, hoping that Simmons wasn't one of those people with a thing against feet. They were just feet, jesus. 

“You're pretty flexible, huh?” Simmons commented, almost idly. 

You have no idea, Grif wanted to say with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. He just smirked to himself instead. 

Now it was Simmons’ turn to say, “What?” 

Grif shook his head and started to scroll through the military sanctioned (and totally boring) library on the tablet. 

“No, what? You do that sometimes,” Grif raised his eyebrows innocently. “No, you pull a face like you have a smartarse comment you want to say then you don't. I'm worried you're going to have an aneurysm if you don't let the sarcastic out.”

Simmons’ half smile, an overture so unexpected, made Grif's stomach tighten. He felt a dumb smile wanting to spread over his dumb face and suppressed it. 

“Nah, man. You hear the shit I already say. Be grateful I have any filter at all,” Grif grinned and went back to scrolling. 

Not looking up he asked, “You gonna sit down or hover like you're waiting for your prom date?” 

Simmons hesitated a moment before he sat near Grif's feet propped on the sofa, rather than either of the nearby armchairs. He stretched his legs over the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle, his body turned slightly in Grif's direction. 

His feet were pale and freckled, his toes thin. Grif was staring. They were just feet, jesus. 

Grif tried to turn his attention back to the tablet. But before he could Simmons slung an arm along the back of the sofa drawing Grif's attention to his hands.

Also pale and freckled, the fingers were long and squared. The knuckles somewhat knobbled. Nails bitten to the quick. As Grif watched Simmons drew his arm back and picked ineffectually at a hangnail. 

Grif bit the inside of his cheek and tried to scold himself. He did not need to be acting like a thirsty bitch right now. Or at all. Ever. Especially not when Simmons could see him. Or anyone could see him. But especially Simmons. 

“But seriously, what were you going to say?” Simmons asked again. 

Grif had to rewind the past several seconds to even remember what Simmons was talking about. Then he laughed. 

“The moment's gone, dude. It wouldn't be funny anymore.” Grif did not believe in explaining the joke. 

Simmons gave a put out huff, pouting his thin lips adorably. 

No, not that. 

Sexily.

Shit. Not that either. 

Simmons pouted like a dork and it wasn't cute or hot at all. 

Grif looked back at the tablet, finally noticing he'd scrolled all the way to the bottom. 

“I'm not as easily offended as you think,” Simmons said, crossing his arms. 

“Unless I'm shitting on Sarge,” Grif pointed out lightly. 

The suppressed smile resurfaced. “Unless you're being insubordinate,” Simmons agreed. “But I can handle whatever you can dish out, Grif.”

Oh, really? Grif's brain asked, with even more excessive brow waggling. 

Grif's face must have given him away again because Simmons said, “I'm serious!” 

“You didn't handle it too well when I dished it in the showers, so I figured that kind of thing was a no go,” Grif responded a little cuttingly. 

It had been the first time he'd been in the showers with anyone else there. And the last. By both of their designs presumably. The whole naked, wet and steamy atmosphere had gone to Grif's head a bit and he hadn't curbed his tendency to be an Inappropriate Uncle. 

He had been embarrassed when, after just a little playful flirting, Simmons had looked at Grif like he didn't know whether to run screaming or be sick. Had even been a little hurt. A little. Maybe. 

Simmons was quiet slightly too long. Grif glanced at up to find him red faced and looking shocked. If Grif  _ had  _ been hurt this would have called up echoes of that feeling again. If he had been. 

He felt himself scowling as he flicked through the games menu this time. He'd told Simmons to just let it go. But of course not. Not pedantic, monomaniacal Simmons. 

“That's the stuff you haven't been saying?” Simmons asked, his voice soft and strange. 

“Stuff like that, yeah,” Grif glanced up at Simmons face again. It was still red but his expression was neutral. “Told ya you couldn't handle it.”

“That I can definitely handle.” Simmons seemed to almost stumble over his words he responded so quickly. 

Grif blinked at him with real surprise. Simmons gave a lopsided smile. 

“I was just amazed you could say anything nice. Also, we were naked at the time.”

Grif studied Simmons’ face, trying to catch the lie. What would Simmons gain from lying about this anyway? Unless he was trying to look cool. Well, if Grif was being given permission to be a letch there was no way he was going to pass that up.

“Well, I can be very nice when I'm naked.” Grif's eyebrow raised. Simmons blinked rapidly, his mottled blush spreading down his neck. If only to prove his point, Grif added, “I can be even nicer when you're naked,” and fluttered his eyelashes.

Grif watched Simmons’ throat work over his nervous swallow and felt smug. So much for Simmons handling it. Grif ignored the tingle of disappointment at the base of his skull. 

He almost choked on his shock when Simmons said, with shaky bravado, “But we were both naked.” 

Okay, that was definitely adorable. 

“Well, next time we're both naked I'll show you how nice I can get,” Grif pitched his voice low, tone still joking, and leaned towards Simmons to waggle his eyebrows as they'd been dying to do.

Simmons rolled his lips between his teeth and looked to be suppressing a smile, or maybe even laughter. Grif could feel the grin taking up his face, felt like laughing himself. 

“You're weird, man” Simmons said through finally escaping laughter. 

“I'm fucking awesome.” Grif laughed along feeling stupid and amazing. 

“But are you awesome fucking?” Simmons said, matching Grif's joking tone. 

Simmons’ face went pale then a deep mottled red as he realised what he had said. Grif laughed so hard he snorted, making Simmons give a sheepish grin. 

“Baby, wouldn’t you like to know?” Grif said, waggling his eyebrows some more.

Simmons seemed to laugh and cough at the same time. “Only if you keep complimenting me during,” he said.

Grif laughed along but he also noticed that Simmons was having trouble looking at him. Simmons gaze would rest somewhere around Grif’s ear then flick to his eyes before dropping to his throat, seeming to catch on his lips along the way.

Suddenly it felt like space had gotten sick of waiting for them to come to it and decided to take the party into the box canyon. All of the air in Grif’s lungs wanted to escape and stay gone. If this was how Simmons responded to some playful flirting no wonder he was such a stick in the mud. 

How could anyone keep from jumping his bones if he blushed so pretty and patchy, making his freckles stand out and his pale eyes look even paler. He must have become a complete stickler out of some kind of self-preservation instinct.

Grif felt his jaw clenching and his douchebag threatening to show. But how could he stop? These reactions were fucking priceless.

“Oh yeah? You that easy, Simmons?” Grif asked, his voice getting a little too rough to be playful.

Simmons blinked rapidly, his eyes sliding away entirely. “ _ No _ ,” he said, sounding like he was genuinely offended and trying to hide it. Then he added, grinning at Grif’s ear again, “Only for you.”

It was a joke. It was obviously a joke. It made Grif’s heart trip over itself to begin knocking thickly against his ribs.

He should stop. This was getting dangerous for him. If he didn’t want the rest of his tour in this stone coffin to be even worse than being the only person  _ on Earth _ to be conscripted already made it, he needed to stop. While the relationship was still tolerable. Hell, while it was actually becoming something like a friendship.

He agreed with himself that this was sensible advice. Assured himself he would follow it. For once. 

“Just for me? I’m flattered, babe.”

Grif could punch his mouth in the mouth.

Simmons actually gaped at him. Grif couldn’t blame him. The words had come out as a seductive purr. He was leaning into Simmons, practically burying his nose into that red flushed neck.

Fuck Simmons smelt good.

“So as long as I keep pointing out how pretty you are, you’re gonna let me have a piece?” Oh fuck this was way beyond friendly teasing. This was way way beyond.

Had Grif thought it was Simmons who couldn’t handle this? Wrong. So fucking wrong. Grif couldn’t handle his shit long enough to get through one conversation without sexually harassing his teammate. 

With any luck he’d be dishonourably discharged. With his luck he’d be court marshalled. And sent to a different, even shittier planet.

And still his mouth wouldn’t stop. Simmons was blushing so hard now the red had almost evened out. 

“If I say that your body drives me fucking nuts? The way it’s so tight and lean.” Grif licked his lips. Grif cursed himself. “That patch of fuzz in the middle of your chest that I just want to rub my face in. Your neck that’s just begging for a hickey. You’re so pale I wouldn’t even have to suck that hard to leave a huge bruise would I? Hell, I could get something spectacular with just my tongue and teeth.”

Simmons was trembling. Grif could tell because he was almost pressed against him now. He was breathing his words into Simmons ear. Resisting the urge to take the lobe between his teeth and test its give beneath his teeth.

And still, with Simmons so obviously uncomfortable, with Grif’s brain fucking  _ screaming _ at him to stop, he just hitched a sigh over Simmons ear and kept going.

“Or do you want me to tell what a good soldier you are?” Simmons physically shuddered and Grif was so so glad he couldn’t see the predatory grin that spread across Grif’s face.

“You like that? You like hearing what a hard worker you are. How you keep this place from falling apart. How smart and diligent and prepared you are. What a good boy.”

Simmons let out a hiccuping sound that made Grif’s heart leap into his throat.

“Grif, you gotta-” Stop being a dick. “I’m gonna-” Punch you in your stupid mouth.

Grif steeled himself to lean back, to make his expression the right mix of oblivious and smug. To make his voice the right shade of inconsiderate jokester. He shifted back.

Simmons grabbed Grif’s hand.

And pressed it against the oddly firm crotch of his sweats.

“You’re right. I can’t handle this.” Simmons turned his head and Grif saw that his pupils were completely blown, his expression was painfully aroused. “I’m about to come in my pants if you keep going. So. So you’d better… If you don’t want…”

Grif was nothing if not a quick adaptor. Taking the barest second to thank the stars that he hadn’t fucked this up beyond all redemption he grinned, wide and saucy.

“What makes you think that isn’t exactly what I want?”

Simmons moaned, a sound so sweet it immediately became Grif’s favourite dessert, and ground Grif’s hand into his very hard cock.

Grif was completely prepared to get Simmons off this way. Was breathless with wanting it. But then his douche brain kicked back in.

What if this was his only shot? Simmons was a goody-two-shoes. There was no way in hell he was going to conduct a long term affair with a teammate. Besides, Simmons could barely stand him at the best of times. There was no way he wasn’t going to come to his senses immediately after he came.

Well. Another thing Grif was good at was delaying the inevitable. 

“But a good boy like you isn’t going to get himself all messy like that, is he? No matter how hot it would be to watch you shoot in your shorts.” Simmons whimpered. “No, you’re going to let me take care of you, aren’t you? You’re always working so hard, making sure everything runs smoothly. Making sure everything is taken care of. Let me take care of  _ you _ .”

Simmons’ hips rolled in tight little thrusts and Grif thought maybe he’d blown his chance. Then Simmons wrenched their hands away, panting and gasping and just being overall irresistible.

They sat staring at each other for a moment too long, giving Grif just enough time to convince himself that Simmons was going to come to his senses. 

Then Simmons stood, pulling Grif up with him and dragging him down the short hall towards the bunks.

He yanked Grif into his room and shut the door quickly.

“If this is a joke-” Simmons began obviously trying to sound fierce but way too turned on to sound anything but desperate.

“I’ve never been this serious in my life,” Grif said. Seeing Simmons panic a little at that, he added with a grin, “I never joke about getting laid.”

Simmons let out a surprised laugh that was mostly breath and nodded, biting the inside of his lip. 

There was another pause.

Then Grif was sliding up to Simmons, running a finger just under the elastic of his sweats. “How many complements to get you to take these off?’

Simmons laughed breathlessly again, asking, “Just the bottoms?”

Grif laughed as well, enjoying that they could laugh, that they could have fun with this. “I didn’t want to push my luck, but I’ll say whatever you like if it’ll get you naked.”

Simmons ducked his head, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. “Just. Just keep saying how I’m.  _ HowI’mpretty _ .” SImmons asked in a breathless rush.

Grif grinned. “Too easy,” he said, making Simmons snort disbelieveingly but look so fucking pleased at the same time. 

Hugging close, but not so close as to stop Simmons from pulling his clothes off Grif started to say the things he’d wanted to say about a month into their stationing here.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Simmons. You have no idea how hot you get me. That time in the shower? I was so close to getting a hard-on I almost died. Thinking you’d see. Thinking you’d know you’re way too good for me,” Grif said, running his hands over the skin Simmons bared as he pulled his shirt off. 

Simmons breath was so shaky, so desperate as he started to shove at the waistband of his sweats. “Fuck yeah, Simmons. Show me everything. I wanna taste every inch of you so bad.” Grif couldn’t stop touching, finally allowed to touch he couldn’t control his hands at all as they gripped and rubbed. He was so fucking hungry for the feel of Simmons’ skin.

“Fuck. Fuck, please, Simmons,” Grif breathed, almost inaudibly. “Please let me touch you.”

“Fuck yes,” Simmons breathed back. 

Grif moaned like he was dying and gripped Simmons’ cock like it was his only hope of survival.

The feel of hot heavy cock in his hand was something Grif hadn’t realised he missed so much. The feeling of how much Simmons wanted this, how much Simmons wanted  _ him _ was beyond intoxicating. But the feel of Simmons in his hand wasn’t enough.

“I’m not going to be able to keep talking, but fuck I’ve got to get my mouth on you,” Grif said in a breathless rush, so fucking ready to fall to his knees.

Simmons whimpered and chewed his lip so hard Grif kissed it to keep him from breaking the skin.

“Can I?” Grif asked, pathetically close to begging. “You wanna see me on my knees for you? God I want to get my mouth on this fucking beautiful cock.”

Simmons made more desperate sounds, bucking into Grif’s still pumping hand. “Please,” he whispered against Grif’s lips.

Kissing Simmons once before falling to his knees, Grif resisted the urge to thank Simmons profusely. As hot as the idea was to Grif. (“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for your cock.”) He wasn’t too sure of the reaction he’d get. And Grif  _ needed _ to get his mouth on Simmons. While he still had the chance.

The taste was overwhelming. The scent was strong and salty and Simmons. The taste was strongly biological, strongly masculine. Simmons was so turned on he was nearly dripping. Grif was in fucking heaven.

He mouthed over Simmons’ cock, suckling the tip. Wanting to memorise the taste of Simmons’ arousal. 

“Grif. Grif, I. Fuck,” Simmons gasped. “I can’t. I’m gonna…”

Grif could guess what Simmons was trying to say. He could feel how much Simmons’ thighs were trembling. Grif started pushing Simmons back, knee-walking him to his bed. Simmons backed up and sank gratefully to it’s not quite soft surface.

Grif stopped his gentle kissing and smiled at Simmons. “It’s so fucking hot how you like this,” he said.

Simmons’ breath was heaving, one hand clutching his own hair, the other gripping the neatly made sheets.

“I could suck you all day. So into it. So fucking responsive,” Grif said, grinning crookedly. 

Simmons whined.

“You’re so fucking hot, Simmons. Such a good boy,” Grif said and Simmons bucked viciously.

Grif took that as his cue to start sucking. He pulled Simmons into his mouth as far as he could, covering the rest with his hand. Grif had a fairly reactive gag reflex so he’d learned coordination quickly. His other hand he brought down to play with Simmons’ balls. Not much reaction there.

So he moved his hand upwards, tweaking Simmons’ nipples. Simmons let out a sound he no doubt found incredibly embarrassing. That was the reaction Grif had been looking for. Laughing around Simmons’ dick he continued to tweak and tease Simmons’ nipples, delighting in the squirming and moaning his efforts evoked.

Pulling back to lap at Simmons’ leaking slit Grif said, “You’re so fucking hot, Simmons. Wish I could suck you forever. Your cock is fucking perfect. Such a perfect fit for my mouth.”

Simmons was gasping, it wouldn’t be much longer. Grif couldn’t wait.

“I wanna taste your come,” Grif gasped, not caring how slutty, how desperate he sounded. “I wanna taste your pleasure. Please.” Fuck. He’d started begging.

“Please let me taste how good you feel.”

Both of Simmons’ hands were fisted in his sheets. He was gasping, “Grif, Grif. Oh fuck.”

Grif’s hips were circling in empty air, desperate for friction. He was going to come just from sucking Simmons off. And wasn’t that totally embarrassing? But Simmons’ hips were twitching desperately and he was making delicious sounds of torment.

Grif couldn’t stand it any longer. He plunged his mouth as far down as he could, twisting the nipple he grasped in one hand and pressing relentlessly down on Simmons’ perineum with the other.

Simmons let out a sound that would have been funny if it weren’t so fucking hot and began shooting into Grif’s willing mouth.

Grif moaned like the showiest porn star. But he couldn’t stop himself as he tasted Simmons for the first time. It was a taste he had imagined in an embarrassing amount of wank fantasies. To prove it was real Grif pulled back before Simmons was finished, allowing him to spurt across Grif’s face in hot wet strips.

Simmons whimpered at the sight, so obviously he wasn’t averse to the action.

Grif grinned up at him, lazily wanking the last few drops out of Simmons’ cock. He was completely unwilling to give up the taste, the feel, the heat of Simmons in his hand. 

Simmons smiled back and said, “Holy shit,”

Grif laughed and sat back, finally letting go of Simmons’ dick. “Yeah,” he said in agreement.

Simmons’ smiled turned a little shaky as he glanced at Grif’s crotch, and the very obvious bulge in his loose civvie pants. “Do you,” he began, then swallowed. “Do you want help with that?”

Oh fuck did Grif ever. But he got the idea that Simmons’ needed to adjust to the idea of Grif and sex in the same sentence. So he leaned back on his knees, pulling out his cock and tugging on it roughly.

“Just keep looking at me,” he said, panting as he jerked himself. “Just keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He jerked himself hard, pinching his foreskin, flicking the head with his nails. Much rougher with himself than he had been with Simmons.

And Simmons watched, still looking turned on. But also looking vaguely unsure, as though he wasn’t quite certain if he should still be here. And fuck if that wasn’t doing it for Grif right now.

He tugged himself rough and dry, pulling on his balls. Then his tongue lapped up the remnants of Simmons come off his upper lip and he came hard, shooting on the floor, filthy and hot.

Simmons’ shuddered in sympathy. Then he knelt down to look Grif in the eye. Hands cupping Grif’s face he hesitated, as though weighing the consequences, before he kissing Grif just as hard and needy as before he came.

Grif moaned and smiled into the kiss. If this was any indication, he might be allowed to suck Simmons off again. 

Hopefully in the near future.

They both sat panting, foreheads pressed together. Grif couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. Thankfully, Simmons was grinning too. Another soft kiss allowed Grif to hope in a way he hadn’t let himself since being drafted.

It was the kind of kiss that promised more.


End file.
